He Who Is Disgracefully Something
by blueoleandar93
Summary: Poor, poor Mr. Bingley finds himself distraught when he learns why he can't marry the Bennett girl. I guess Mr. Darcy will have to pick up the pieces...


"Pride's Prejudice"

POV: Darcy

Ever since the young age of twelve, I have been in aquaintence with the ever enthusiastic Mr. Bingley. His father, bless his soul, had passed away some years ago, but had raised me as if I had sprung from his loins as young Mr. Bingley has. Our relationship was strong as two brothers' would be. We relied on each other, watched out for each other, inspired each other. We even lived with each other from time to time, especially right before his marriage to the lovely Miss. Bennett. But a week before his wedding day, we resided briefly in Chelsea. It was well past dark and the trees were looming outside with mystery as his eyes were grey with worry. He ate his soup with a blank stare at the table's woodwork and sighed into the abyss. Dramatic bastard. I asked, "What, pray tell, is discouraging you so, Mr. Bingley? Your gloomy demeanor is even depressing me!"

He stood angrily and stormed out of the room, slamming the doors behind him in angst. I stood and sat back down for another spoonfull of that delicious split-pea soup. Then, of course, I followed my mate into his bedroom and saw that he was at his wardrobe, ripping out clothes by the handfull.

"I'm leaving," he quipped, firey red hair matching his temper.

I yanked him away from the closet, "Quiet yourself, Mr. Bingley! You will make sense of your inner discrepancies and marry Miss. Bennett whom you happen to love!"

"Love," he spat, "Lord knows what that is. Fake honor and nonexistent charity. Filth. It means nothing."

"It means everything."

Mr. Bingley yelled viciously, "Lies! You don't know a thing about it! You only love yourself! I've spent ages upon ages loving-oh, Saint Adelaide... I should... I should leave this life. My perverse mind shouldn't have the right to exist."

I stormed over to his door, slammed it shut, locked it and turned to him, "_You_ aren't going anywhere. _I _am going to strike you if you don't allow me further insight to your ramblings. Who is she whom you love, firstly?"

Mr. Bingley looked away from me, "I won't answer that."

"Fine. Then why can't you just marry her instead of Miss. Bennett? I mean, this woman cannot possibly be as disgracefully ill-privileged as she."

"Disgracefully something, I'll tell you that much," Mr. Bingley sighed and shook his head, reciting,"_Poor, my love is not. Beautiful, my love is. Henceforth my lovers eyes shall never meet_-"

"His!" I finished, stepping back several bounds, "My Lord, Mr. Bingley! Haresy! Dishonor! Disgraceful sodomy! Stay there! Stay, I beg of you!"

Mr. Bingley pressed my wrists to the door, leaning inches from my face, his flaming red hair resting above his deep brown eyes, "I refuse! Look at me, Darcy! This is what I am! But I'm also your brother! Your friend!"

"You're no kin to me," I spat on his shoes.

"Really? Well, taste this, you proud bastard, I'm in love with _you_!"

I retched, "Disgusting."

Mr. Bingley's eyes were grey with hurt as he let go of my wrists, stepping away from me. I brushed off my waist coat, "Christ, my boy. Calm yourself. Now, listen. If you have still maintained your maidenhead, then I will simply drop the matter."

"I maintain it," he turned his back to me, holding himself.

"Well, good, then. Very good. Give it to the Bennett girl and, well, continue on," I turned, my hand resting on the door knob. Mr. Bingley sniffed lightly and fell to his knees, hand at his mouth and back quaking as he said shakily, "Well? Aren't you going to leave?"

I turned, feeling truly filthy as I knelt by my adoptive brother's side, "Alright, Bingley. I'll stay briefly, but pull yourself together, honestly. We're men, not prissy little schoolgirls."

He sighed, "Darcy, go."

"No."

"Pray tell, why not?" Mr. Bingley looked over at me with red eyes and a quivering lip, "I am at my lowest and I don't need your pig headed pride!"

His hair was of unrest as he started to sniff heavier, "I've spent years upon years thinking the most shameful thoughts about you and you quip back with some snide remark about my maidenhead? I should strangle you! But I'm just a prissy little schoolgirl, correct?"

I stroked his hair in shame and sighed, "Bingley-"

"No, I'm tired of it!" he slapped my hand away, "You are such a dictating, overbearing, unenthusiastic, monotonous, proud, prejudiced beauty and I cannot fucking live with it!"

"Mr. Bingley!"

"My name is Jonathan," he hissed.

I tried to calm him, "Jonathan, really, just-"

"Just what? Act like I'm not morbidly infatuated with you so you can save face and not live as Mr. Darcy: the man whose loved by men," he argued, face red and blatantly effeminate, "To Hell with you, Darcy! Hell!"

"Jonathan Bingley!"

"What, you swine?"

I murmured, "D...do what you will with me."

"...what?"

"I can not stand for you to feel this way against me. You may love me in ways I cannot love you, but I agree that you are my brother and my best mate. But I can try my best to calm myself from anything that may cause you to feel I am prejudiced. Please... kiss me if you feel it will make amends."

Bingley froze, "That's the single most homophobic statement I've ever heard to date."

"Well," I smiled, "Will you do it?"

He mulled it over and eventually responded, "As you wish."

Mr. Bingley leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine softly. I felt my eyes close at his musky scent and stubbly chin. It was vicious and powerful and breathtaking. I hate to admit it, but the thought of being touched and controlled by another man made my spine tingle with a tiny pang of longing. Unwillingly, my hands raised to cup his face as my lips applied pressure back. The stubble on his cheeks was brushing against the stubble on mine and I licked his bottom lip as we began to kiss open mouthed. He felt so strong as his hands caressed my upper, middle, and lower back. Mr. Bingley suddenly pushed me backward and bit his lip worriedly, "Amends?"

I looked into his eyes and said breathily, "Amends."

He stood jerkily and red faced, grabbing a shirt from the floor to place over the front of his pants, "I have to visit the loo!"

I touched his leg, "No, no. It's my fault. I'll... I'll relieve you-"

"Don't feel entitled," he moaned, dashing out of the room and closing the door. I sat for a minute, leaning back on the bed post in regret. Why did I say such things to Bingley? I mean, surely a perverse man like him deserved such words, but not Bingley. He was always the sweetest, most light hearted man I've ever met. With the most happily brown eyes and the most enthusiastic smile. Somehow that made me wonder how he would act in my bed. With his soft hands and attentive gaze, he'd be more than satisfactory-oh, Darcy! Don't be foolish. You only shared a kiss, yes just one. And it meant nothing, Darcy, it didn't even happen. To think! You, a man of such high established composure, let your lips touch another man's. Oh, and what a man he was. Bingley. In my mind I replayed every moment in my life I had ever seen him naked. Including when I'd forget to knock when he's bathing, or we'd change clothing in the same room. His playful smile and white teeth. His long limbs built with soft muscles. His wide chest and broad shoulders. His legnthy back and supple buttocks, oh, Darcy, you pervert.

My trousers felt weighed down and I refused to believe what was aching to be free of my pants. I looked away. Blushingly, I thought of Bingley as his trousers rose quite the same after our kiss. Lord in Heaven, our kiss. Blasphemous in its sensuality, heavy in its blatant sexual heat. I wanted nothing more than to pin him to the ground and release myself inside of him as he quivers, naked upon my bed. I could almost feel his smooth hands as my hand plunged into my trousers. I could almost feel the heat of him through my hands. Oh, Bingley! His kiss. Bingley! His touch. Bingley! His arousal so close to me. Touch me, Bingley! Flood me with your desire! Oh, yes, Bingley, yes! My hips writhed free from their pants as I battled my desire with gusto and I came hard, belting out, "Bingley!"

A figure stood by the door, red headed and smiling, "Oh, Darcy... I guess I should have knocked..."

"Damn right, you should have knocked!" I fumbled around, correcting my trousers, "Close the door, you ignorant arse! And wipe that smirk off your face before I do it for you."

Mr. Bingley snickered and left, closing the door, fingers tapping on it, "Do, hurry, Mr. Darcy. I was wondering something awful of my wedding decorations."

I stood and fitted my trousers, wiping my hands clean of the evidence of my _miniscule_ amount of _fleeting _passion for Bingley on a handkerchief and thrust the door open. Mr. Bingley leaned on the door edge, "Are you perfectly entertained, Mr. Darcy?"

I pushed him angrily and sulked, stalking down the hallway, "You hadn't seen that."

Mr. Bingley fell into step beside me, snickering with a large grin that regretfully made me melt, "I hadn't seen what?"

"Exactly," I said, shaking my head, "Now, where were we... ah, yes, wedding decorations. You and the lovely Miss. Bennett have selected blue and white, correct? And quite the same with...the tapestries-stop your puerile laughter at once, Jonathan! It's most unbecoming!"

"You, my dear sir, are the most misplaced fellow I've ever had the misfourtune to acquaint myself with," he laughed.

I paused, "...well, thank you."

"That's not a complement," he sighed, pausing his laughter with a smile and ruffled my hair, "But I get it, you know, Darcy? You want to settle down. Wed and multiply and such, dying in anguish with the wary promise that Heaven awaits us. And to find what there? Release? Freedom? Never. Just a soft, flowery Hell all dressed in white waiting to burn us for eternity. And we don't even get to say we lived. Shit draw, isn't it, Darcy?"

I nodded and then shook my head, "No. No! I mean, of course not! I _love _women!"

"I didn't hear you sweating to Elizabeth back there," he bit his delicious pink lip.

I blinked, pulling my trench filth mind from his lips and how they'd feel due south of my belt, "Who?"

"You know who I'm talking about," Bingley sighed, "_Your _Bennett. You know, the one you stared down at the ball in which I met Miss. Bennett."

"That wench!" I cried and stopped walking, bursting into laughter, "Heavens no! She's barely fit to sweep my chimney."

"With all of her Oxford books, I disagree."

"To hell with her books! She's under-privileged, under-educated, and featurally inept. Besides, I prefer my women to be a tad more colorful."

"Like..." Bingley stood a bit closer and breathed, "Perhaps red hair?"

I shoved him aside, "Arse. I am finished with you for the evening to retire. Blow out the candles by your windows. You know how you are with fire."

Bingley tugged on my sleeve, "Peter... I'm sorry, really. I was surprised. What was I to do when I walked into my chambers to see-"

"I understand what you saw!" I cried, "I beg of you, Mr. Bingley, silence yourself! Please!"

"Listen, I understand that you did that out of confusion. You feared for your masculinity. You panicked," he dropped his voice to a whisper and he breathed into my ear, "And...if what we did entertained you in the least, I'm most content to oblige your every need. Miss. Bennett, or no Miss. Bennett."

My cheeks gathered blood along with other parts of me as I raced across the terrace, hand over my mouth in shame of my thoughts and my intentions toward the man I called my brother. Oh, Bingley. Why do I want you more than the air I breathe? Why is where I long to be, by your side? Why do I long to stare into your luminous eyes? Why do I long to be alone with you? Why do I long to touch you in ways I should touch my wife someday?

I stumbled into my bed chambers on the third floor of the Bingley estate, mind drifting to Bingley's room the floor below. Drifting to his lips and hands and tougne as I was caressed by all three. He was so sturdy and strong and rough. So...so...manly. I slammed the door shut and tore off my jacket and boots, sitting on my bed in angst. Fuck this. All of this. I loosened my tie and ripped it off, casting away my shirt too. As the clothes fell, I knew I just needed to hit something. I would feel ten times better if I just hit something.

Standing quickly, and striding to my desk, I tossed everything off of it. The piles of paper, books, poetry, quills and ink, all of it. Sliding down the wall in billowing resentment, I felt horrible, if not worse. Now there was a mess I had to clean up. But that was the least of my troubles. All that was on my mind was the sweet Mr. Bingley and his soft, sensual touch. I mean I know that all we shared was a kiss...but, oh, what a kiss it was._ Oh, honorable, vile submission. Alla Sticata carries it away_. The words of Shakespeare haunted me like the plauge. Of course, in Romeo and Juliet, Mercutio spoke those words to his enemy Tybalt, not to his lover - not that that is how Bingley shapes himself even in my dizziest of daydreams - but perhaps Mercutio alluded to it. Perhaps, Mercutio was talking about submission in a way that rivals two enimies fighting for honor. Perhaps, Mercutio knew exactly what he was in for when using the word "submission" when threatening his mortal enemy. Perhaps, Mercutio used that wording when speaking to Tybalt because it most exemplifies the underlying relationship the two boys shared, yet could never speak of. For, it was circa 1600 and two men, especially of such high Stature, couldn't possibly be in love... or could they? And "vile" said Mercutio. Vile submission. Grossness and perversion and things of that ilk breeds the word _vile_. And yet, if the kiss Bingley and I shared was so-called _vile_, then the word must mean bitter-sweet romance in the impregnated stages. And "honorable". How did Mercutio know to put that word in there? For in the seemingly vile submission, whilst I fallen under scantly amounts of passion for Bingley, I honor him more than my own life. Throughout this perverse, confusing, beautiful, homosexual feelings of love I have for Mr. Bingley, as Shakespeare notes, I seek his vile submission only to honor him and the passion I'm not allowed to feel when I see his face or even think about him (which I have been doing too much of). So, in any famed romance, Bingley and I couldn't ever fit. Even in Romeo and Juliet. While society holds us back from ever pursuing a relationship, we are allowed to be as close as we are. Within the play, we'd probably be Mercutio and Tybalt. Possible fated lovers, no possible way for anyone to learn of it. How tragic.

I felt rather than heard a quiet knock on the door.

"Mrs. Kelly, please draw the curtains and take the night's leave. It will be dark soon."

Footsteps were heard along with the drawing of curtains as I hid my head in my knees. Then came a small gasp. I nodded, "I am fully aware of the magnitude of the ruckus I've made. I shall attend to it, I just... I mean, I feel... I don't know."

Although Mrs. Kelly rarely speaks I could tell she meant well. She knelt by my side and touched my hair.

"God, I'm a mess, my dear. I just... well... I feel I could very well be in love with Mr. Bingley," I wept.

"Well," Bingley said lightly, sitting beside me, "I feel I could very well be in love with Mr. Darcy. Maybe we can work this out together?"

I leaned over my knees to lean my head on his shoulder, crying pitifully into his white shirt. Solomnly, he took my hand and placed his head atop mine, holding me close, "It's okay...it's okay."

"But-"

"I know. I've been there."

"This-"

"Is illegal?" he replied, "Not exactly true. We're not sexually active-"

"Bingley!" I hissed.

Mr. Bingley chortled, "I know, I know, not helping."

I sighed, "To put it lightly... I feel like dung, Jon. I really, truly do. I mean I was normal and simple and ever since we kissed... I really want to just...stick by your side. But you're getting married and I need to find a wife. Do something with my life, you know? And now, I just don't wanna do that as much. I-I just feel all jumbled."

"So do I. I mean, I thought you hated me when I told you I loved you. We were friends, then not friends, then friends again, then more then friends and what...? I mean, I understand how you're feeling, but I did have a right to wonder if all you wanted from me was...well..."

"You had every right. Hell, I even wondered it myself," I glanced at him, "Actually, I do want that from you, but more than that I just want you. And nobody else. Ever."

Bingley blinked and I brushed some hair out of his face as he whispered, "Well, that was utterly unexpected."

I kissed his nose, "Yep."

"You were so disgusted with me."

I nibbled on his ear, "Mmm."

"I mean friends one day, lovers the next."

I kissed his neck, "Lovers?"

"I'm gathering that you implied a profession of love. And, well, Mr. Darcy, I accept."

"You do?" I looked into his eyes.

He breathed, blinking shyly up at me, "To the utmost reply."

"I...am glad," I blushed.

Leaning over gently, Mr. Bingley pressed a light kiss to my lips but it was enough to send my heart racing. I needed him. All of him. From his hair to his toes. Our kiss morphed into a caress of the tougne and he mounted my hips as if I were a horse. I snickered and melted into the smooth touch of his hands to pull my face closer so that I was entirely in his control as I ran my fingers down his back. Something crashed and Bingley and I glanced up to see a harried looking Mrs. Kelly and a tray of tea on the floor.

Bingley bit his tougne and replied, "You see, I could fabricate the most elaborate tale to explain this unsightly behavior if it wasn't a Tuesday, but honestly I am so totally and completely in love with Mr. Darcy that if I don't sexually harass him now, I may spontaneously combust."

"And I return his love wholeheartedly," I gazed into his eyes, kissing him once more on the lips.

Mrs. Kelly snickered, "Well, finally. The looks Mr. Bingley gives you when you're not aware at dinner raises fear within me he'd attack you upon the table."

Bingley laughed, "I would have if I hadn't an iron will."

I stroked his cheek and sighed, "I love you."

Mrs. Kelly asked, "Should I write Miss Bennett?"

"You needn't," I smiled, pressing a finger to his chest, "He's marrying her."

Bingley rubbed his nose against mine, "And then Darcy will marry little Bennett! With the brown hair and the Oxford books!"

"But then we'd be brothers!" I exclaimed.

Bingley laughed, "Glory above. Now, that's odd!"

The door closed lightly, "I'll leave you boys alone now and clean up the tea later."

I took advantage of our privacy and kissed him slowly, whispering after our lips parted, "Oh, brother dear, I quite enjoy the way you kiss."

"Incestuous..." he chuckled, unlawfully gorgeous with his eyes upon mine, "But we already share our sex, we might as well take a clash on the family tree."

"Hell, I'd love to take advantage of a married man," I breathed along his lips.

He closed his eyes and pulled off his waistcoat, fingers pulling at his shirt's buttons. I loosened his tie half in a trance, pulling it from his collar as he bared his chest shyly. His fingers were suddenly caressing my face as he asked abruptly, "Do you truly love me?"

"Yes," I nodded, gazing into his eyes and stroking his bare back, "I love you, Jonathan."

Bingley replied with a harsh kiss to my lips before desperately, roughly, and passionately taking my maidenhead along with my inhabitions. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

END


End file.
